9 The Man Who Wasn't There: Investigations into the Strange New Science of the Self by Anil Ananthaswamy: I kind of hate this style of journalism where writers connect a bunch of vignettes about different areas and name it a new kind of meta-science. I mean, none of the researchers would think of themselves in dialogue with other researchers mentioned in the book, so why should we se them as part of a larger conversation that doesn't really exist? So confusing.
8. Two Years, Eight Months, and Twenty-Eight Nights by Salman Rushdie: Blah. And blah some more.
7. Slade House by David Mitchell: Scary!
6. A Manual for Cleaning Women by Lucia Berlin: I didn't love every story in this book, but most of them were fantastic. How have I never read her before? (She's no longer living, and this book is a new edited collection with an excellent introduction).
5. Depraved Heart by Patricia Cornwell: We have talked before about how I am a sucker for Kay Scarpetta
4. All-of-a-Kind-Family by Sydney Taylor: I read this with Jack, and I was happy to find that it was just as good as it was when I was a kid.
3. Our Souls at Night by Kent Haruf: Another author who is dead and wonderful-- how did I never read him before now? Such a spare, sad, sweet book.
2. The Thing About Jellyfish by Ali Benjamin: You should probably just go ahead and read this. Wonderful.
1. The Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard: I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE MOVIE.